


Image Of The Invisible

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4690862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen!Chester. Dean wakes up in a completely different house, with a woman and a little kid he doesn't know and no clue as to how he got there. What's worse, his father is acting as though everything is normal and Sammy... well, Sammy's gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Dean woke with a start, breathing heavily. He blearily looked around the motel room for a moment, before his sleep-addled brain realized that he was not in the motel room. He leapt from his – the – bed and stumbled from the messy black comforter that had wrapped itself around his legs.

Panicked, he backed up into a wall and knocked a bunch of framed records onto the hardwood floor, wincing when they shattered. Dean yelped and jumped to the side, tripping over a large amp and landed on a Fender electric guitar.

Dean shrieked, horrified at what he had managed to destroy in a matter of seconds. He stood perfectly still for a moment, looking around the room he was in. The walls were painted a light blue and covered with framed records and posters of Iron Maiden, Metallica, Black Sabbath (both Ozzy and Dio), and Motörhead. Off to the far side of the room were his – the – bed Dean had tussled with and an open closet with clothes spread over the floor. The guitar he had crushed, an amp and a small desk with a couple of open books sat took up the rest of the floor space.

Curious, Dean moved closer to the desk and looked over the titles: Advanced Physics, Academic Chemistry, and a very dirty copy of The Catcher in the Rye. On a sheet of lined paper titled 'Holden Caulfield Essay' were a series of doodles but nothing constructive had been written.

There was a light knock on the door to his – the – room. "Dean?" A woman's voice called, "I'm coming in, okay?"

The door opened and a blonde woman peeked inside from the hallway, "I heard a lot of noise in here, are you alright?" She asked.

Dean could have died right there. "What are you doing?! Get out! I'm only in my boxers!"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Alright, well breakfast is ready. You better hurry before Adam eats it all." With that, she shut the door behind her and Dean could hear her walking down stairs.

He stood silently in the room for a minute and finally came to the decision that this was a dream and that he would go with the flow for now.

It took Dean about ten minutes to find something suitable to wear, and happily donned a black Metallica t-shirt and wrinkled jeans. He cautiously stepped out into the hallway and looked around. The walls were tastefully painted in soft beige and decorated with numerous family portraits, baby photos and picture-day photos. Dean laughed quietly to himself. He had never had a picture-day photo taken.

More interested in who that woman from earlier was, Dean started down the stairs without stopping to look at the photos. The long staircase flowed into a large living room filled with leather furniture, a fireplace, a TV and a giant aquarium tank full of oversized goldfish and Koi.

Dean followed the sounds of voices and the smell of bacon and walked into a kitchen with a breakfast nook where his father, the woman and a kid who looked to be six or seven were seated at an island table.

John looked up from the newspaper he was reading and smiled, "Morning, Dean."

Dean nodded in return and slowly slipped into the empty chair between the mysterious woman and his father. Immediately, the woman served Dean a large pile of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, sliced tomatoes and a couple pieces of sliced cheese. "Are you ready for your Physics test, Dean? Apple or orange juice?"

"Uh, test? And coffee, black," Dean replied.

John raised an eyebrow and shrugged, pushing a mug to Dean, followed by the coffee pot.

No one spoke for several minutes and Dean couldn't help but cast confused glances at his father every couple of seconds. He couldn't figure out who these people were, or why they were there for that matter. But there was one more problem with the whole set-up Dean was in.

"Dad, where's Sammy?" Dean asked suddenly.

John spluttered into his coffee and coughed loudly, trying to clear his lungs of the burning liquid. When he could finally breathe again he looked at Dean, setting aside his newspaper, "Dean, are you feeling alright? You haven't mentioned Sam in years."

Dean was confused, "Why not? Why wouldn't I talk about him?"

Clearing his throat, John peered directly at his boy, "Because Sam was the name of your imaginary friend."

Dean furrowed his brows, "Imaginary friend? No, I meant Sam- you know, my brother- pipsqueak, crappy haircut, annoying. Any of this ringing a bell?"

John sighed and stood up from the table, motioning for his eldest son to follow him. John led Dean out into the living room and sat down in one of the comfortable leather chairs. He knotted his hands together and leaned forwards, staring Dean in the eyes. "Now, Dean. I know it's been hard, God knows I'm aware of how hard it's been, but Sam died in the fire thirteen years ago."

Dean shook his head, "No. No. We managed to get him out but you were too late for Mom. Dad, Sam lived."

"Dean, please listen to me. Sam and Mary both died in that electrical fire," John answered; his voice thick with emotion.

Dean couldn't believe this. If this was a dream then he wanted to wake up immediately. A world without Sam? That wasn't possible.

"What are you talking about? That's not true! Who's that kid? Who's that woman?! Tell me what's going on!"

"Maybe you should take today off from school, I mean tomorrow is the anniversary…" John started but found he couldn't finish.

Dean stood up, his heart pounding. "No, no. That's alright. I'll go to school. I'm fine," Dean assured his father even as he began backing away from him.

Dean decided that it was safer if he skipped returning to the breakfast table and made his way up to his – the – bedroom. He closed the door quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself and sat down on the bed, staring blankly at the bands' posters on the walls.

Taking several deep breaths, Dean attempted to steady himself. His father may have forgotten Sam, he may be living with some strange woman in some strange house with some strange little kid who was definitely not his little brother but that could be just a witch's spell… or something. If there was one thing Dean was sure of without a doubt, it was that Sam was alive. Of course, there was one other thing Dean could safely assume; it was that if both John and himself weren't with Sam it's that the youngest Winchester was probably in danger.


	2. Chapter Two

Dean had absolutely no intention of taking his physics test. He just didn't do school. And besides, he needed to figure this whole thing out.

Grabbing his wallet from his desk and his leather jacket from the back of his- the- bedroom door, Dean peeked out into the hallway, worried that maybe his father had followed him upstairs.

Luckily, he appeared to be alone and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind himself.

Casually, Dean headed down the stairs, pointedly avoiding the kitchen where he was certain that lady, kid and his Dad were still hanging out.

"Dean!"

The seventeen-year old froze and glanced over his shoulder, staring at the little boy standing in the kitchen doorway.

The kid was smiling up at him, his light brown hair sticking up in a rat's nest and his blue eyes sparkling.

"Go away kid," Dean muttered.

"Where are you goin'?" the child asked.

"Uh… school," the teen lied, "Okay?"

The little boy nodded but then stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Dean's legs in a hug.

The teen stood stock-still for a long moment until he began to grow uncomfortable and pushed the kid away.

"I have to go," he muttered, trying to ignore the boy's trembling lower lip.

Turning away, before there were any more interruptions, Dean headed toward the front door.

Pausing in the foyer, the teen eased the coat closet open and saw his fathers jacket, as he had thought he would, and slipped a hand into one pocket, pulling out a set of car keys. Dean smiled; glad to know that his Dad still kept the Impala's keys where he always did.

Palming the keys, Dean opened the front door and slipped outside, his smile widening as he saw the Impala sitting in the driveway next to a red minivan that just screamed "Soccer Mom!"

Peering over his shoulder to make sure that kid hadn't alerted his Dad to his departure, Dean quickly unlocked the driver's side door of the classic Chevy and sat down.

"Am I glad to see you," the teen murmured to the car, laying a hand on the dashboard for a moment.

"Let's find out what the Hell's going on," Dean said and turned the key in the ignition, the familiar growl starting up instantly.

Slowly pulling out of the driveway and down the street, the hunter had a chance to check out the neighbourhood and couldn't help but be surprised at the sight of manicured lawns, flourishing flowerbeds, white-picket fences and cookie-cutter houses.

Shaking his head, Dean peered in the rearview mirror as he drove further away from the house he'd woken up in… and slammed on the brakes.

"Sam!" he cried out and turned his body to peer into the backseat of the Impala.

It was empty.

Dean frowned, brow furrowed, staring hard at the leather bench seat, certain he'd seen his brother for an instant, just a fraction of an instant.

"Sammy," Dean muttered, his heart rate suddenly speeding up.

His brother had been there, Dean was sure of it, sitting right in the back seat, staring at him, his green eyes wide and wet, face pale with fright.

"I'm going to find you, Sammy," Dean ground out, pressing a foot down on the gas, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, "I'm going to get you back."

W

Dean didn't see visions of his younger brother again as he drove out of town and for some odd reason that made him feel slightly better.

He caught sight of the sign as he crossed the town line and saw that he and his father had settled down in Windom, Minnesota. That meant he had six and a half hours to get to his destination.

His father had been so adamant that Sam was dead, had died in the same fire that had killed his wife. But Dean wasn't convinced. He had just seen his brother, before waking up in that strange house with that strange lady and kid. He clearly recalled falling asleep beside his brother in their too-small motel bed, John taking the second bed, for the night before they were to move on, a rare reprieve from having a case looming over all their heads.

Dean was going to find out what was really going on. But to do that, he needed to see for himself. To go to Lawrence and see his mother's grave.


	3. Chapter Three

John became conscious slowly.

His first realization was that he was warm, very warm, but no unpleasantly so, like there was a down comforter draped over him.

The second realization John had was that there was someone lying right beside him, someone who was sleeping soundly, breathing slow and light.

Nervously, John opened his eyes and found himself staring at a white ceiling. That didn't tell him much at all about where he was or who was sleeping beside him.

Holding his breath, John turned his head to the right and saw…

Mary.

It was Mary sleeping soundly beside him.

John felt his eyes prickle with tears and his throat suddenly became too tight.

"Mare," John whispered and his wife's eyes opened, their cornflower blue depths clouded with sleep for a moment.

"Mmm morning," Mary muttered and stretched languidly in bed.

John stared, he couldn't help it.

The last thing he recalled before waking up was falling into an exhausted slumber in a lumpy motel bed, his sons sharing the one next to his.

This had to be a dream.

That was it.

John felt his eyes well up tearfully and he reached out one calloused hand to cup his wife's cheek.

"John," Mary asked, raising herself up on her arms, peering at him concernedly, "Are you alright?"

The hunter swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Yeah, Hon," he managed, "I'm fine. Just… I love you, Mary… I love you so damn much."

Mary frowned at him, one eyebrow cocked in a look of bemusement, "I love you too."

"Do you want to get Dean up?" Mary asked, sitting up in bed, her curly, golden hair trailing down her shoulders.

"Sure," John replied and sat up, feeling as though somehow this wasn't just a dream.

Standing, John glanced over his shoulder to see Mary shedding the nightgown she wore and walk over to the dresser to pick out clothes for the day.

As though she felt his eyes on her, Mary turned around, "Go! Before Dean comes in! Go, go!"

Smiling, John left the bedroom and headed down the hallway, his feet moving on their own accord as though they recalled exactly where to go.

At the other end of the hallway was Dean's bedroom. John smiled at the large Superman cutout he had taped to the door the day Dean had received it for his fourth birthday. Gripping the doorknob, John carefully pushed open the door and spied the small form of his eldest son sleeping beneath a blue and red blanket.

Without turning on the lights, John stepped into the room and sat at the edge of the bed, just watching his young son sleep for a moment.

The four-year old, sensing the presence nearby, opened his eyes.

"Hi Daddy," he greeted with a smile, standing up in bed and falling heavily against his father, wrapping his arms around John's neck.

"Hey, Champ," John welcomed the embrace. At seventeen, Dean never would have hugged John the way his four-year old self did.

"Are you two coming down for breakfast or are you just going to sit like that all morning?"

John looked up to see Mary peering into the bedroom. She was wearing blue jeans and a fluffy white sweater with tiny gold sequins sewn into the fabric.

"You go with your Mom," John told Dean, "I'll be down in a minute."

The hunter watched as his son climbed down from the bed and watched as the four-year old ran to his mother, reaching out to take her hand, they vanished from view down the stairs.

Guess I'll get Sam up, John thought and stood, remembering that his younger son should only be a few months old now, judging by Dean's age.

Making his way back down the hall toward his infant son's nursery was, John frowned, noticing that the door was closed tightly. Mary never closed the door all the way, she insisted on leaving it wide open or at least ajar.

As John approached the nursery he felt a shiver of unease creep up his spine.

Shaking his head slightly and chastising himself for feeling so anxious, John gripped the doorknob and pushed the door open.

And froze.

The nursery was clearly abandoned.

Although it looked just like John remember it; there was the crib with the mobile hanging over it, the rocking chair sitting by the window, the dresser and change-table, it had an air of disuse about it.

John released the door and stepped inside the room, trying to get a better look at the interior of the nursery.

He stepped towards the crib and suddenly his heart clenched at the sight of the soft, light blue blanket folded ever so carefully in the bottom. Raising his eyes, John stared at the mobile with plush yellow ducks and pink and blue bunnies hanging from it. Reaching out, the hunter touched the mobile, a faint cloud of dust lifting from the toy along with a cheery tune.

Where the hell was Sam?

"John? John, what are you doing up there?"

Heart skipping a beat, John cleared his throat, "Uh… yeah, Mare, I'm fine. Just, give me a minute… I c-can't find my socks."

Holding his breath, John prayed that Mary would believe that excuse and walk away- he didn't want her to find him in the nursery- letting out a sigh when he remained alone.

Retreating towards the doorway, John peered into the nursery once more. Something had happened to his youngest son and he was going to find out what it was.

Closing the door after himself, John made his way back to the master bedroom and grabbed some clothes- not really caring what they were- and hurriedly dressed.

Hands shaking, John left the bedroom, sparing one more confused, sad glance at his youngest son's nursery, he headed downstairs to meet his wife and eldest boy.

Mary looked up as John stepped into the kitchen doorway, a cup of coffee in her hands. The smile that had curved her lips as she caught sight of her husband, however, vanished and turned to a concerned frown.

"John, are you feeling alright? You're pale."

The hunter glanced at the table where a four-year old Dean was eating a breakfast of peanut butter on toast before forcing his gaze back to his wife.

"Where's Sam?"

Mary's frown deepened, her eyes narrowing with pain and the hand not holding the cup of coffee went directly to her belly as though she were suddenly sick.

"Mary, where is Sam? What happened to him?" John asked again, this time more insistent, feeling as though something awful had happened to his youngest son.

His wife's gaze slid to their eldest son before she spoke.

"He's gone, John, don't you remember?" she asked, her voice a pained whisper.

"But… I don't understand," the hunter argued, "Sam can't be gone… How?"

Mary set the coffee mug down on the counter and stepped forward, taking her husband's arm gently and leading him just out of the kitchen, into the living room so that they could talk with a little more privacy.

"John," Mary said, her voice begging, "Please… Dean just stopped crying."

"But I know what happened," the hunter pressed, "Tell me, Mare, what happened to Sam?"

His wife gave a wet sigh and swiped one arm across her eyes.

"He… He's d-dead, John," Mary answered, her voice barely audible, "The d-doctor said it was SIDS… there was nothing anyone could d-do."

John felt cold descend over him. He couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it.

"When?" he asked, unable to help himself.

Before Mary spoke, the hunter thought he already knew the answer.

"Early November… J-Just after Halloween," Mary responded numbly.

"Was it the second?" John asked and his wife peered at him worriedly.

"No," she responded, "The third… the night before… he woke up in the m-middle of the night wouldn't stop crying… I t-tried everything but he kept crying… I f-fell asleep in the r-rocking chair and the n-next morning… the next m-morning…"

John grabbed Mary and hugged her tightly, tears stinging his eyes.

The hunter closed his eyes as his wife grabbed his shirt, face pressed against his chest to try and quiet her cries.

John looked up, past Mary, into the kitchen and spied the calendar that hung beneath the cabinets by the sink. The day was November 5, 1984. Sam had been dead for a little over a year.

Carefully, the hunter held his wife out at arm's length and kissed her wet cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Mary apologized, "I promised I'd stop doing this."

John however, didn't respond, ignoring his wife, he couldn't help but listen to that feeling that something was very, very wrong.

"I'll be right back," he told Mary and turned, walking back upstairs woodenly.

Sam couldn't be dead, that was impossible, especially since John recalled the night of November 2, 1983 as vividly as it had been yesterday.

He clearly remembered waking up in front of the television in the living room- the game playing on his favourite sports station- to the sound of his infant son crying. He didn't even know what made him go up the stairs- maybe some primal instinct telling him that something was not right- to his son's nursery to find his wife pinned to the ceiling and bleeding from a gash in her abdomen, an instant before she- and the room- burst into flames. John remembered grabbing his baby son out of his crib and hurriedly handing him to his eldest who had come to investigate, knowing it was already too late to save his wife.

He remember it all in sharp, horrific clarity: the high-pitched wailing of his infant son, the look of terror on Mary's face, the mocking orange flames, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he ran out of the house after his children…

Then why was Sam dead now? Why was Mary still alive?

John didn't know what was going on, he didn't know where his sons really were, but he knew for certain that he had to find out.

As though his feet had a mind of their own, John found himself headed once again towards the empty nursery. Reaching out, he gripped the cold doorknob tightly and swung the door forward.

Standing in the doorway, John felt that there were answers here and he just had to do some digging to find them.

Slowly, reverently, he closed the door once again and padded down the hallway and into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. John turned on the tap for the cold water and cupped his hands beneath the chill stream. Leaning down, he splashed his face.

A slight noise sounded behind him and John lifted his head sharply, staring into the mirror.

Sam, his Sam, sat crouched on the floor behind him, green eyes wide and red-rimmed, hair mussed, face pale and grimy.

"SAM!"

John whipped around to face his son but gasped in shock when he came face-to-face with nothing but a blank wall.

He had been certain Sam had just been there! He was sure of it!

Carefully, John turned around again and peered into the bathroom mirror, hoping that he'd see his son again but the only reflection he saw was his own.


	4. Chapter Four

John stared down at the first body lying out cold on the morgue table.

The body was that of an elderly man, in his late seventies, his hair grey, his skin wrinkled, eyes closed so that he looked as though he were asleep.

"Has he been identified?" John asked the coroner and the woman nodded.

"Thomas Burleson," she told him, reading from the medical report in her hands, "Aged seventy-nine."

"What was the official cause of death?" the hunter asked.

"Officially, dehydration and malnutrition," she answered, the tone of her voice conveying her thoughts that the deaths weren't as cut and dry as they seemed.

John nodded and drew the white sheet up to cover the late Mr. Burleson's face.

He had already read the Police Report and M.E. report so he knew exactly what- officially- had happened to the two corpses now in the morgue.

Now he made his way over to the female body laid out on the table beside the one the elderly gentleman rested upon.

"This one is Yvonne Clarkson," the coroner told him, "Twenty-two, cause of death dehydration and malnutrition, same as Mr. Burleson over there."

John sighed and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

"Do you mind if I take a closer look?" he asked and the woman shook her head.

"I'm about to go on my lunch, Agent, but feel free to take a look," she offered, "You know the way out?"

John nodded and watched as the coroner left the room.

Reaching over to the coroner's desk and grabbing a pair of Latex gloves, the hunter slipped them on and proceeded to pull down the blanket covering the late Mr. Thomas Burleson.

John had already read the crime scene reports and the coroner's report on the two deceased. They had been found by a bunch of teenagers wanting to get high and have sex in an abandoned house in the town. At first, the kids had thought the two had had the same idea as them and were just asleep. But their attempts to wake the elderly man and young woman failed and an ambulance was called.

After a medical examination, it was confirmed that both Mr. Burleson and Miss Clarkson were in comas and suffering from dehydration and malnutrition. They lingered in the hospital for a handful of days before passing away- the elderly gent one day later and the young woman three days after being checked into the hospital- despite the ministrations of the doctors and nurses.

The circumstances surrounding their deaths were strange, even though no signs of foul play were found on or inside the bodies. It was baffling, and to John Winchester, extremely suspicious.

The list of monsters that killed their victims without leaving a mark was a short one but even so John needed to be thorough.

Since there were no physical marks on the two bodies, John could rule out vampires, ghosts and djinn. There was no trace of sulfur on the bodies with ruled out demonic possession. But what about shtriga? No, they only went after children, victims whose life force was the strongest.

Then what?

Sighing, John covered the bodies back up and pulled the gloves off his hands before reaching into his pocket and dialing Bobby Singer's number.

W

"Sounds like you have a Murraue on your hands," the grizzled hunter told John after listening to all the evidence the younger man had gathered about the victims and their cause of death. It had also taken Bobby a serious few hours of research before he'd called John back, forcing the younger man to wait impatiently for his news.

John frowned. He was sitting at the desk in the motel room he'd rented, having returned from the morgue after calling Bobby to see if he could help him figure out what had killed two people. His sons were seated side-by-side on the bed they were sharing, Dean looking eager to know more about the monster they would soon be hunting and Sam looking rather sick to his stomach.

"Murraue," Bobby repeated, "It's from northern Germany; also called a Mårt or Mara. It's where we get the word nightmare from."

"That's fascinating," John grumbled, "But what I need to know is how is it killing and how do I kill it."

"Like shtrigas, they feed on a person's life force," Bobby told the younger man, "And for them, it doesn't matter the age of their victims."

John nodded, thinking about the two bodies in the coroner's office that were clearly not children.

"That explains why they never recovered," the eldest Winchester said, "Their life force was so drained."

"Mmhm," Bobby mumbled, "Now, when a Murraue catches a victim, she puts him or her into a coma and the person experiences horrible hallucinations- visions- like a nightmare, so she can feed at her own convenience."

John looked to his sons as his friend spoke and he noticed that Dean had wrapped a protective arm around his thirteen-year old brother's shoulders.

"Alright," the father said brusquely, "How do I kill this thing?"

"Sunlight will turn 'em to ash," Bobby said, "Though the Murraue hide at daybreak."

"Is there a weapon we can use?" John pressed.

"Anything made of steel will deter a Murraue," the veteran hunter answered, "So a steel knife should kill her."

"Should?" John asked, "Bobby, I don't want a maybe, I need a definitive answer."

"I've never come across one of these things!" the older man snapped, "I am just giving you what I've found in the research!"

John sighed and ran his fingers through his black hair, glancing once again at his sons.

"Alright," he murmured, "Thanks for the help."

"Let me know how y'all make out," Bobby commented before John ended the call.

Dean jumped off the bed and approached his father, his hazel eyes sparkling with anticipation. Sam remained where he was, looking much less enthused.

"Do we have anything made of steel we could use?" John's seventeen-year old asked and pointed at his father's duffel bag.

The eldest Winchester shook his head, "We'll have to get something."

"Can we go now? What are we going to get? Can I come with you?"

John almost smiled at Dean's excitement, almost. They were preparing for a hunt, not a party, and although he appreciated his son's zeal, the teen also needed to keep his wits about him, especially going up against something completely new.

Deciding that they should go after the Murraue while they still had the element of surprise- and before the creatures took any more victims- John grabbed the keys to the Impala and looked across the room at his youngest son.

"Come on, Sam."

Slowly, the thirteen-year old slid off the bed, pulled his sneakers on and followed his father and brother out to the parking lot.

SPN

Sam followed his father and brother through the aisles of the local K-Mart, feeling sick to his stomach.

It wasn't nerves that were making him feel so unwell; Sam hadn't been feeling good since that morning, which was unsurprising since half of the kids in his seventh grade class were away with the flu.

The thirteen-year old pulled his jacket tighter around himself, careful not to let Dean see, as he continued after his family.

John found the aisle he was looking for and stopped in front of a row of shelves containing various items of cutlery.

"Look for anything that says its made of steel," the eldest Winchester instructed his sons, "Knives especially."

Sam didn't move as his father and brother searched for weapons they could use to kill the Murraue with.

"Will these work?"

The thirteen-year old looked over at Dean, showing their father a box of steak knives- six in all- with black plastic handles.

John nodded and took the box from his eldest, setting it into the metal basket he'd picked up by the door as they entered the superstore.

W

Several minutes later Sam was following his father towards the checkout area, John's basket containing a package of steak knives, a butcher's block complete with different sized knives for cutting meat and a file for sharpening them.

Dean was walking beside Sam, a bounce in his step, clearly itching to use anyone of those knives on the Murraue they would hunt tonight.

Sam sniffed and surreptitiously wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his hand-me-down jacket. Glancing out the large plate-glass window in front of the store, Sam saw the first few leaves of fall blowing on the chilly autumn breeze.

They had only been in town for four days and already they were soon to be moving on again, Sam forced into being the 'New Kid' at yet another school.

Whatever, Sam tried not to let it get to him. He mostly kept to himself in school anyway, knowing that at any time John could pack them up and they'd be halfway across the country by that evening.

Thinking about it, Sam didn't think he knew any of the kids in his class by their name- it just wasn't important to him- and he doubted if they knew his.

"C'mon Squirt!" Dean's voice jolted Sam out of his thoughts and he looked up to see his father and brother ready to leave the store.

As they walked across the parking lot, John spoke.

"I'd like you both to get some rest before night falls," he said in a tone that told the boys that it was an order and not a suggestion.

"But Dad-" Dean began, a whine in his voice but John stopped him from continuing with a look.

"I know I don't ask this of you normally," he began, "But we've never come up against something like this before and we all need to be on our toes tonight."

Dean, pouting a little, nodded.

Sam smiled at his brother acting like a child but was secretly grateful to his Dad that he was going to let them sleep for a while; it might help him shake the crappy feeling.

SPN

Dean gripped the long butcher's knife tightly in his hand as his father tore down the yellow police tape crisscrossing the front door to the abandoned house and jimmied the door.

Making sure there was nothing laying in wait for them, John took point and stepped inside, quickly followed by Sam and Dean, brining up the rear.

The thirteen-year old closed the door silently and as one, the hunters moved forward, John holding a flashlight to illuminate their way.

Dean glanced all around, ready to spring into action, heart pounding in his chest and sending adrenaline coursing into his bloodstream.

Sam snorted from behind him and Dean glanced over his shoulder at his sibling, "You okay?"

The younger brother nodded and Dean returned his attention to the interior of the house.

They were making their way through the foyer and into the living room. Illuminated by the beam of the flashlight, Dean could see the walls were coated with layers and layers of graffiti. The floors had been striped of the hardwood and carpets, leaving only plywood. Debris of cigarette buts, newspapers, soda cans, beer bottles and used condoms littered the floor.

Moving into the living room, Dean saw that there was a pile of crusty blankets shoved into one corner but no Murraue.

Turning, John led his sons further into the derelict house.

SPN

"I think its moved on," John told his sons and Sam couldn't help the feeling of relief rush through him.

The thirteen-year old's father sighed, "We'll have to look somewhere else."

Sam looked up sharply.

"Where do you think it could be?" Dean asked and John suggested they head into the urban area of town, "It's probably going to stay away from houses right now. We can try looking through some of the old warehouses."

Sam's shoulders slumped and he sighed. He should have known his father wasn't going to give up. John was like a dog with a bone when it came to getting his monster. He wouldn't move on until he knew the creature was dead and people were once again safe.

"C'mon boys," John said and Sam followed his family out to the Impala.

SPN

By the third factory even Dean was growing tired of chasing this wild goose.

"Maybe it's not even here," he suggested as John pulled up to the deserted automotive factory, "Maybe its moved to a different city altogether."

John just shook his head and cut the ignition.

"You don't know that," he said, "And until I know for certain this thing's dead, we are not leaving."

Dean set his jaw and tried to gather up as much energy as he could- his adrenaline rush having wore off a while ago- and told himself that this time they'd find the Murraue and kill it.

The car factory was surrounded by a security fence but John found the gate and pushed it open as far as it could go- the door attached to the gate itself with a thick chain- and ushered Sam through first.

Dean's thirteen-year old brother slipped inside the grounds easily, stepping back and waiting patiently on the other side.

"Dean," John said and the seventeen-year old held his breath as he shimmied through the gap, pleased that he was able to make it through with little trouble.

John squeezed through next, his broad shoulders and barrel chest making the fence shake.

Dean smirked as his father struggled through the opening.

"Maybe you should lay off those cheeseburgers next time, Dad," he commented and John glared at him.

"Smarten up," the eldest Winchester ordered, "We have a job to do."

Dean sobered quickly and once again brought up the rear of the group as John crept towards the factory.

W

Inside the automotive factory, Dean could see large, smeary windows set high into the walls and pointed them out to his father; the Murraue was certainly not going to be on the first floor.

Nodding, John motioned his sons to follow him as he made his way across the factory floor, silent metal skeletons of machinery looming over them, as he searched for a staircase or elevator shaft.

Dean heard his brother sniff and then sneeze, causing John to freeze where he stood.

"Sorry," Sam muttered and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.

The Winchesters moved silently towards the far end of the factory floor and Dean smiled when he saw two elevator doors set into the wall.

"Think it still works?" the seventeen-year old asked his father and John jabbed the downward facing arrow button.

Surprisingly the button lit up and there came a grinding, groaning sound from the other side of the elevator doors.

"Maybe we should use the stairs," Dean suggested but then the doors slid open with a rusty sound and John stepped into the elevator.

Reluctantly, the seventeen-year old followed his father into the lift, Sam entering last.

The doors slammed shut and John stabbed at the button that indicated they wanted to go to the basement level. The elevator groaned and slowly began to descend.

Dean stood in a corner, his heart starting to beat fast in his chest, not with excitement but with fear. He could just imagine the cables snapping away from the elevator to send them plunging down to the shaft.

The elevator however, held steady, and staggered to a halt on the basement floor, the doors opening only halfway.

John moved forward first, shouldering his way through the doors and into the basement.

Dean and Sam quickly followed their father, both boys blinking in the dark.

John swept the flashlight in a tight arch around them to give an idea of where they were before he started off, his footsteps silent.

Dean made his way forward, his eyes focused on the back of his brother's head.

The Winchesters had walked about twenty or thirty paces forward when suddenly Dean heard his father cry out in pain and the flashlight fell to the floor, smashing against the cement and going out.

"DAD!" Dean shouted and slashed out with the knife, panic overtaking all the training his father had taught him and he heard Sam grunt and a thud of his falling body followed.

"Sammy!" Dean gasped, fearing that he'd hurt his brother.

There was no response and Dean blinked furiously, willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

From behind him, the seventeen-year old heard a rustle of clothing and then he felt a soft, cool hand touch the back of his neck and consciousness fled, plunging him into a darkness deeper than that of the basement.


	5. Chapter Five

Sam regained consciousness slowly. He drifted up towards wakefulness reluctantly, his body shivering with cold and his head throbbing with pain.

"D'n," he muttered, fighting to stay asleep, "Da'?"

Peeling his stubborn eyelids open, the youngest Winchester found himself not in the motel room he shared with his brother and father. Instead, he had no idea where he was because it was as black as pitch.

"Dad!" Sam cried out, sitting up suddenly with fear, the motion making his head swim and his skull pound with agony, eliciting a groan from the thirteen-year old.

"Dean?" he croaked, his throat dry, his mouth tacky.

There was no response.

Sam blinked his eyes, then rubbed them, trying to help them adjust to the lack of light.

After a minute or two, the boy could just make out the darker shapes of his two family members in the murky blackness.

"DAD!" Sam cried and dropped onto his hands and knees, "DEAN!"

Crawling forward, the youngest Winchester recalled the events of the evening: his father's visit to the local morgue, the call to Bobby and the revelation that they were hunting Murraue, the unsuccessful search for the monster in abandoned houses and factory all around town and finally the arrival here.

Sam remembered entering the automotive factory and leaving the ground floor without so much as a cursory search because of it's large windows that would allow diffuse light to shine through and would not attract the Murraue. He recalled vividly the journey in the elevator down to the dark basement and stepping into the cavernous room, sandwiched between his father- who was in front- and Dean- who was bringing up the rear.

Something had attacked them- the Murraue- and knocked them out. Sam didn't even remember seeing anything after he'd heard his father cry out and hit the floor. The monster must be very fast, Sam realized, to have disarmed all three of them in the span of a few seconds.

Reaching his fallen family members, Sam reached out and laid a hand on his father's broad shoulder, shaking it.

"Dad? Dad! Wake up! C'mon, get up!"

Sam might as well have been trying to rouse a slab of cement for all the good he was doing. Tears began to well up in his eyes but he blinked them away. Turning he reached out to his brother and grabbed a handful of Dean's t-shirt, thumping his fist down on the seventeen-year old's chest.

"Get up, Dean! Dad's in trouble! I need your help!"

Dean remained as silent and still as John.

Fearing the worst and choking back a sob, Sam leaned down until the side of his face was pressed against his brother's chest. The thirteen-year old's cheek rose slowly as his brother inhaled, lowering as his brother exhaled.

Dean was still alive.

Releasing his grip on his sibling's shirt, Sam flopped over his father's chest, feeling the same rising and falling as John's lungs faithfully took in air.

They're in a coma; Sam realized and sat back, recalling his father's words about the Murraue as he relayed what Bobby had told him over the phone before they'd gone to hunt the monster.

The thirteen-year old's heart began to beat even faster than it had been before when he'd feared his father and brother were dead. His father and brother were in a coma. The Murraue had chosen them to feed on, maybe had already started to feed on them and the longer they remained unconscious and the more of their life force was drained away, the greater chance they had that they would die.

Sam couldn't let that happen. He was a hunter and his job was to protect people, even if that meant protecting his father and brother.

"I have to get help," Sam whispered out loud and stood shakily, drawing his jacket around his body as his frame was wracked with chills.

"I have to get out and get help."

The thirteen-year old searched the concrete floor around his fallen father for a moment before he spied the outline of the flashlight John had been holding. Snatching the torch up, Sam thumbed the ON/OFF button only to find that it was broken. The glass covering the light bulb had smashed when it hit the ground and was useless now.

Not giving up, Sam stepped in the direction of what he hoped was the elevator shaft- his only way out of the basement- and moved forward with shuffling steps.

After about thirty feet, Sam's outstretched palms came into contact with the smooth, cool elevator doors and he gave a sob of relief.

Moving his right hand to the side, he found the buttons that would summon the lift. Pressing down hard with the heel of his hand, the thirteen-year old held his breath and waited for the unmistakable sound of the elevator car descending towards him.

Silence.

Not willing to give up, Sam pressed the button again…and again…and again…

The elevator shaft remained quiet, its doors closed.

No! This couldn't be happening! The elevator had to work, it just had to! How else was he going to go and get help for his father and brother?

Sam slammed his hand over the button again and again until his palm was bruised and bloody, his breaths coming in rasps and his body shaking as much with cold as with panic.

He was trapped. They were trapped. There was no way out and the Murraue would surely be coming back to-

Suddenly Sam whipped around, his injured hand cradled to his chest, and moved away from the elevator doors.

He wasn't defenseless. They had knives; steel ones that would kill the monster.

Dropping to his knees, Sam used his uninjured hand to search the ground for the knives they had brought with them and most assuredly had dropped during the attack.

The knives were gone.

Biting his lip, Sam searched his father's jacket pockets John had insisted on bringing to find them empty of the weapons. Checking Dean's pockets, Sam found the same.

He didn't even bother to search his own jacket. He knew he'd find nothing.

The Murraue was smarter than he'd thought it was. It must have found and taken all the weapons they had had before he woke up.

Sam sat back on his haunches in between his father and brother, thinking.

Why hadn't the monster put him into a coma too?

Could it only put two people under its spell at a time? Sam wondered. That didn't really make sense, why would it have a limit as to how many people it could incapacitate at one time? No other monster he'd ever heard of had that problem. No, he was probably awake for another reason. Maybe the monster was here now, watching him, for its own sick amusement. Or maybe, he was awake so that after John and Dean's life force was drained dry, the monster could turn on him and not have to bother hunting for more prey so soon.

Sam swallowed painfully and felt the tears that had been threatening since he woke up, spill over.

He felt sick to his stomach and wrapped his arms around his middle.

He was going to watch his brother and father fade away into death and then he was going to die himself, helpless and hopeless.

A choked sob escaped Sam but he didn't care, no one was around to hear him if he cried like a baby.

Head still throbbing with pain, the thirteen-year old lowered himself to the floor between his two family members and cried himself into an exhausted slumber, nothing to do but to wait for the inevitable.

W

Sam woke, confused and sick feeling.

Raising himself up on his elbows, he blinked, trying to relieve the darkness. It remained, however, and the thirteen-year old suddenly recalled why it was dark.

"Dad," he muttered and shook his father's shoulder half-heartedly. Turning to his right, he shook his brother's shoulder.

"Deanie," Sam whispered, using the name he had for his brother when he was little.

He sniffed and then wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. His stomach growled lowly. Sam looked up; he didn't know how long he'd been asleep for, didn't know if it was still nighttime or day. His belly however, at least told him it had been a while since he'd last eaten.

Reaching into his father's inner jacket pocket, Sam's chilly fingers closed around a small, sealed bag of shelled peanuts John always kept there, and a package of gum.

Stuffing the bag of peanuts into his own pocket, Sam opened the package of gum and slipped one of the pieces into his mouth, saliva gushing over his tongue as he bit into the spearmint-flavoured candy.

Standing, Sam zipped up his jacket and stepped away from his brother and father. Since the elevator wasn't working, maybe there was another way out of the basement- an emergency exit or something- that he could use.

Walking hesitantly, cautiously, chewing the gum in his mouth slowly, telling himself he would find a way out, go back to the motel room and call Bobby. Although John did have a cell phone, it was too large and bulky to keep in his jacket or jeans pocket and he would leave it in the Impala or at whatever motel room they were staying in during their hunt.

Sam reached the far wall and raised his hands, running his palms and fingers over the painted cinderblock, searching for a second elevator or door.

"C'mon, c'mon," the thirteen-year old muttered under his breath as he slowly made his way down the wall, leaving no stone unturned, in a sense.

Sam walked all the way around the circumference of the room until he reached the non-operational elevator shaft again. For a split second, the boy thought he'd found a way out until he pressed the button and the lift failed to descend to the basement level.

Disheartened, the young hunter returned to his family and once again sank down between them. Sitting in the darkness, with nothing but his thoughts, Sam once again grew despondent, time slipping away from him unnoticed.

W

A sound woke Sam. For a moment, the young hunter hoped it had come from either his father or his brother, that one or both were waking up.

Opening his eyes and focusing on their unmoving forms, Sam quickly realized that the sound hadn't come from them.

Swish-Scratch, Swish-Scratch, Swish-Scratch.

Sam's head snapped up, his eyes wide in the darkness, struggling to see what was causing the noise.

The boy's eyes widened in fear as he focused on the two forms moving steadily closer to him.

Two women were making their way towards the Winchesters. They both had ghostly pale faces, as white as paper and thin, their chins and noses and cheekbones sharp. They were dressed in black, in what appeared to be flowing robes or clothes draped over their skeletal-thin frames. The Murraue walked on their hands and feet but moved fluidly, their toes and fingers ending in razor-like claws. Their eyes burned a sickly green in their sockets, giving off a nauseating light. Their hair floated around their heads as though they were underwater, an eerie greenish hue from the light of their eyes.

After a moment Sam's shock wore off and he snarled, knowing that he had little chance of discouraging the monsters but knowing he had to do something to protect his father and brother.

"Go away!" he shouted as loud as he could, his voice cracking, "Get away from us! Leave us alone!"

One of the Murraue chuckled and raised herself onto her legs. Towering over the thirteen-year old, the monster looked even more threatening.

"Don't you touch them!" Sam shouted, rising up onto his feet as well.

Again, the Murraue chuckled and suddenly lashed out with her claws.

Sam stumbled backwards; inches from having his chest sliced to ribbons and fell, breathing heavily.

"Leave them alone!" Sam cried as the Murraue turned away from him, towards his father and the second one crouched over Dean.

"NO!" Sam yelled and scrambled to his feet, leaping at the monster about to hurt his father.

White-hot pain seared across the boy's abdomen as the Murraue's claws sliced through flesh. Crying in pain, Sam fell backwards, cracking his head on the cement floor.

Stars flashed in front of the thirteen-year old's vision then abruptly cleared. Sitting up weakly, Sam's hand went to his belly, feeling blood wetting his shirt.

Looking up, the Murraue that had attacked him was now straddling John, feet on either side of his abdomen, hands planted onto the floor above his shoulders.

Sam watched in horror as the Murraue's mouth opened, wide, wider, until it resembled that of a snake when it is about to eat a much larger prey animal. The monster lowered her mouth to John's until she completely covered his and a series of wet sucking sounds ensued. The Murraue's green eyes cast a deathly light onto the eldest hunter's face.

Sam felt sick to his stomach but was paralyzed to do anything. He stared as the monster raised her mouth away from John's and a wisp of pale white smoke, oddly luminous in the dark, drifted up from the hunter's parted lips and into the Murraue's waiting jaws.

"Dad? Dad!" Sam cried and fell onto his hands, wanting nothing more than to go to his father.

"Little one," a sibilant voice hissed and Sam realized that one of the Murraue was speaking to him.

"Little one."

"What?" Sam asked, trying to sound angry but the word came out weak and raspy.

"They feel no pain, little one," the Murraue standing over Dean hissed and Sam felt tears well up into his eyes.

He wasn't sure if the monsters were lying, and if they were, there was nothing he could do for his brother and father.

Once the Murraue had had their fill of spiritus vitae, they turned and moved away from the hunters, their dresses swaying as they walked and their claws scraping against the cement floor; they faded into the darkness as though they were part of it, as though they had never been their in the first place and were only a figment of Sam's imagination.

The youngest Winchester crawled back to his family, tears streaming down his face from hopelessness and pain. He lay down next to his brother, curled up against him and closed his eyes.


	6. Chapter Six

Dean stared down at the large square of black granite that marked his mother's final resting place. The stone was simple, unassuming, and to the teen, felt as though it belonged to someone else and not the woman who had given birth to him.

MARY WINCHESTER

DECEMBER 5, 1954 – NOVEMBER 2, 1983

BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

The grass around the gravestone was long and brown, uncut and unkempt. It was clear that no one had been to the site in a long time. The stone itself was covered in a layer of dust, the dirt ground into the carved letters. Dean felt anger boil up in his belly at the realization that his father- or at least this new version of him- hadn't bothered to visit his late wife in months, maybe even years.

As the seventeen-year old bent down in front of the grave, about to wipe at it with the hem of his t-shirt when something beside the stone caught his eye.

Reaching out, Dean pushed away the long grasses and uncovered a second, smaller grave that lay flush against the ground. It too had been cut from black granite and it contained only two lines:

SAMUEL WINCHESTER

MAY 2, 1983 – NOVEMBER 2, 1983

As Dean stared down at the small, unadorned gravestone he felt a chill creep up his spine and he shivered.

There was no way his brother could be buried beneath that stone, Dean told himself, there was just no way.

Yet here it was, carved into granite. The proof that his baby brother had indeed died in the fire that had also taken his mother's life.

No! Dean stood up suddenly; Sam wasn't dead! This was all some kind of spell or some other supernatural hocus-pocus. Some vision or hallucination designed to make it seem as though his brother was dead.

"Sammy's alive," Dean said out loud, gritting his teeth.

The teen reached up and raked his fingers through his hair, suddenly unable to recall what he and his sibling had been doing the night before he'd woken up in this strange new world.

"C'mon! Think!" Dean snarled, fighting to recall the memory that had been so clear only hours ago.

But holding onto that memory was frustratingly futile, like trying to grab a handful of smoke.

Dean heaved an exasperated sigh and peered down at his brother's gravestone.

SPN

John reluctantly left the bathroom. He was sure something very strange and wrong was occurring, and the sight of his thirteen-year old son, his son whom his wife claimed had died as an infant, cemented that fact for the hunter.

Sam wasn't dead, no, he'd never been taken away suddenly as Mary had described. He was out there somewhere, scared and possibly injured.

John headed downstairs once again, feeling rage begin to churn within him at the thought that some supernatural creature had snatched his youngest son. The bastard wasn't going to get away with this. No one and nothing messed with John Winchester's boys and got away with it. He was going to find the son of a bitch and make him wish he'd never even seen Sam.

"Hon?"

Mary's voice called from the kitchen and the hunter stopped at the bottom of the staircase.

Letting out a deep breath, John answered, "Yeah, Mare?"

"Where are you going?"

Damn, John thought and closed his eyes, thinking quickly.

"I just remembered I have to go to the garage and do some work for a customer," he said, keeping his gaze on the front door a few feet away from him.

"But you promised you'd spend the morning here," Mary argued, her voice coming closer, "You promised Dean."

Now his wife was standing in front of him, blocking his way to the door, a pleading expression on her face.

"I've got to-" John began.

Mary put a hand on his cheek, "Can't it wait? Just one morning? Dean's been waiting to spend some time with you for two weeks."

John tried not to look into his wife's eyes but their soulful gaze was difficult to ignore- Sam had those same eyes that, just like his mother, he used to get what he wanted- and sighed, glancing into the kitchen to see his eldest son now enjoying a glass of orange juice.

The hunter felt torn. He needed to find the monster that had his youngest son but he also felt a strong desire to spend time in the company of his wife- something he might never have a chance to do again- and he gritted his teeth in frustration.

"Just for the morning?" Mary was saying, "You can go to work this afternoon. Just spend some time with your son."

"All right," John agreed, telling himself that he could at least search the nursery and see if there were any clues as to what was going on if he stayed home.

Turning, the hunter walked into the kitchen and accepted a cup of coffee from his wife.

SPN

Bobby Singer paced around his den, bottle of beer in one hand, as he completed the circuit around his couch and coffee table again and again, every so often sparing a glance at his bookshelf filled with manuscripts and texts on the lore of monsters and demons.

The hunter couldn't shake the niggling sensation from the back of his mind; a feeling that had been with him since he'd called John Winchester two days ago with information on the Murraue. Bobby liked to think highly of his research skills, he didn't mess around when it came to peoples' lives- both the lives of fellow hunters and innocent civilians- but for some reason, he felt as though he was missing something vital that could easily turn the table on John's hunt.

Upon Bobby's umpteenth circuit around his living room, he stopped before his bookcase and peered at the old tomes, seeking the one he'd used to gather information about the Murraue. Written in German, the text itself was as thick as a brick and nearly as heavy. Taking the book from the shelf, the grizzled hunter brought it to his desk and sat down, telling himself that if he just read it again, that might assuage his worrisome feelings. Although fluent in numerous languages, Bobby was only human and knew that he may have well misinterpreted something in the text.

Setting his beer aside, he opened the tome and began to re-read it, eyes moving slowly along the printed words so as not to skip even the tiniest phoneme.

SPN

"Dean," Sam whispered, his dry lips chapped and cracking from lack of water.

"Dean," the thirteen-year old whispered again, licking his lips and tasting copper on his tongue.

"Don't die. Please, don't die. You can't die. You can't leave me here by myself."

Reaching out, Sam touched his fingers to his brother's cheek, feeling cool flesh beneath his hand.

Whimpering, the boy rolled painfully to the other side, the blood dried into his shirt pulling on his wounded abdomen, and touched his father's neck.

"Dad? Dad!" Sam gasped; his father's skin was cold as ice.

"No," Sam begged, "Dad, wake up. Please. Wake up."

Hot tears spilled from the boy's eyes as he shivered between his dying family members.

"Don't leave me," Sam pleaded, "Don't leave me alone."

SPN

Bobby sat back in his chair and scratched his head through his baseball cap.

Nothing seemed to be amiss. He had read the entire entry on Murraue and he had everything right, his translation hadn't been wrong. But then why did he still feel uneasy about John's hunt?

SPN

Dean shook his head as he climbed back into the Impala. He couldn't believe he'd actually driven all the way to Lawrence just to confirm that his brother's grave was there. What had he been thinking this morning? Of course Sam's grave was in the cemetery. His brother was dead, had been for thirteen years. Nothing was going to change that.

As he pulled away from the cemetery, Dean watched the headstones grow smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror. Before leaving, he'd done his best to brush the dirt away from his mother and brother's gravestones and pulled out a few weeds that had grown up around them, a small gesture on the anniversary of their deaths.

Driving out of Lawrence, Kansas, Dean's thoughts turned back to Windom, Minnesota and he wondered if Mrs. Kennedy would let him take the physics test he'd missed tomorrow.

The seventeen-year old turned the radio's volume up to its highest setting, singing along to Rush's "Ghost Rider" and didn't see any strange apparitions again.

SPN

"That's it, Dean! You got it!" John encouraged as his son caught the baseball his father had thrown to him.

"I did it, Dad!" the boy exclaimed, beaming happily.

John's heart skipped a beat as Dean ran to him and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. Returning the embrace, the father cast his eyes upward, to the nursery window, its curtains closed against the bright sunlight.

"C'mon Tiger, let's get something to eat," John said and picked his son up in one arm.

"Can we play some more ball after lunch?" Dean asked, his large hazel eyes pleading.

"You bet," John promised as he walked up the front porch.

Entering the house, the father let his son down in the foyer and Dean ran into the kitchen, greeting his mother excitedly.

"I made grilled cheese," Mary called from the kitchen, "You want some?"

"Yeah," John replied, "Just give me a minute."

Walking past the kitchen, the father headed upstairs to heed the call of nature, not even giving the closed door to the nursery a second look.

SPN

Standing up, Bobby grabbed the book he'd been re-reading and moved away from his desk.

Going over the same information again had been useless. There was nothing new, nothing that jumped out at him.

"Yer just getting old," Bobby grumbled to himself as he started to cross the den, the book held loosely in one hand by its spine.

A fluttering noise gave the hunter pause and he looked down to see a folded slip of paper slide out from the book in his hand and float to the floor, sliding along the hardwood to come to a rest beneath the coffee table.

Frowning, Bobby stepped up to the table, sat the book down on top of it and, kneeling down, reached out to take the bit of paper.

Yellowed with age, it was clear that the paper had been in the book for a long time. Bobby made to crumple the paper in his fist and toss it, but something stopped him- that niggling feeling- and instead he unfolded it.

A single line of handwritten text was scrawled across the paper in spidery writing. Whomever had written it had been in a hurry and it took Bobby a moment or two to translate the German.

Murraue hunt in pairs.

Bobby's heart dropped and he closed his eyes. He had assumed that John was only facing one monster and he had assumed wrong.

"Balls!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave Kudos or a Comment if you enjoyed this chapter.


	7. Chapter Seven

Bobby Singer gripped his telephone with white knuckles as he dialed John Winchester's cellular.

In the back of his mind he held onto the hope that the younger hunter and his sons were safe and that he was just absent-minded and had forgotten to call Bobby and let him know the case was over and done with, but it was only in the back of his mind.

John's phone rang and rang and rang. Bobby didn't bother waiting until the voice mail began; he hung up his phone and swiped his baseball cap off his head, raking a hand through his hair.

"Damn it, Winchester," the veteran hunter muttered to himself before picking up the telephone again and dialing a different number.

"Caleb, I'm gonna need yer help with something."

SPN

Sam could do nothing but watch helplessly as the Murraue returned to feed on his brother and father.

Weak from illness, his injuries, hunger and thirst, the thirteen-year old could only wonder if he would perish from his physical maladies or if the Murraue would drain his life force as they were draining his two family members'.

"Go away," Sam croaked as the monsters approached once again, looking to feed, "Leave them… alone."

The creatures barely spared the teen a second glance, more concerned with their current prey than with him.

A wave of nausea forced the young hunter to close his eyes and by the time he opened them again the Murraue were gone and Dean and John were that much closer to death.

SPN

"This isn't good, Bobby," Caleb commented from the passenger's seat of old Firebird he'd been trying to restore on an off for five years, "They could be dead."

"Don't you think I know that?!" Bobby snapped angrily, gripping the steering wheel tightly, guilt gnawing at his insides.

Caleb Blacker, only a couple of years older than Dean Winchester, was a damn good hunter as any Bobby knew and one of the few he trusted to help on a mission such as this.

Glancing at Bobby from the corner of his eye, Caleb gave what he took to be an encouraging smile, "It could have happened to anyone. We're only human, we make mistakes."

Bobby grumbled, "Well it happened to me and my mistake might just be the death of John and his boys."

W

As they entered the town where John's hunt was, both Caleb and Bobby kept their eyes open for any sign of the man, his sons or that classic Chevy he drove.

The veteran hunter's chest tightened when they cruised past the motel where the Winchesters were staying and saw no sign of them.

Looks like we're really on a rescue mission then, Bobby thought to himself grimly and steered his Firebird away from the motel.

SPN

"Dean! Where were you? Your principal called and said you hadn't been in school today. Kate and I were worried and when I saw you'd taken my old car-"

John barely let his seventeen-year old son get a word in before he was accosting the teen in doorway. Kate stood behind her husband, arms crossed over her chest but she looked much less angry than John and more relieved that Dean was safe.

"I… Sorry Dad, I just needed to think. I guess you were right, I needed to take some time off of school today."

"Where did you go?" Kate asked her stepson, approaching him and giving him a tight hug.

Dean sighed, a sheepish grin on his face, "Kansas. I drove to Lawrence to see… to see Mom and Sam's graves."

John's lips thinned as he gazed at his son and the boy's stepmother looked as though she might burst into tears.

"Are you all right?" the father asked.

Dean nodded, "I am now."

John nodded, laying a hand on his son's shoulder and steering him towards the kitchen, "Kate's made meatloaf for dinner."

"And strawberry pie for dessert," Dean's stepmother added, seeing the teen's eyes light up at the prospect of pie.

Adam was already sitting at the table, looking impatient to start dinner.

"Hey kid," Dean said and smiled, ruffling his half-brother's dirty blond hair affectionately.

"Mom and Dad wouldn't let us start 'til you came back," the little boy complained, pulling away from Dean's hand.

"Well, I'm back now," the teen stated the obvious as he took a seat beside Adam, "So let's dig in!"

"Yeah!" the boy agreed, lifting his fork to stab it into the glistening meatloaf sitting on the table ahead of him.

"Ah ah!" Kate exclaimed, "I'll serve. The dish is hot."

Adam lowered his fork, looking chagrinned. Dean smiled as he reached out for a helping of mashed potatoes.

Thoughts of Sam couldn't be further from his mind as he indulged in his stepmother's cooking.

SPN

"I'm sorry about this morning," John murmured to Mary as they lay in bed, neither sleeping.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," his wife argued, "Sometimes I find myself walking towards the nursery in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning before… before I remember he's not in there anymore."

John said nothing but rolled over so that he was facing Mary.

He could see her outline in the darkness and he reached out to her, cupping her cheek in his palm.

They didn't speak again for a long moment.

"Do you think we should try again?" he ventured after some hesitation, "I mean, that's why we had Sam in the first place; to be a companion for Dean. We both know what its like to be the only child and-"

"I don't want to talk about this right now," Mary told him and rolled over so that her back was facing her husband.

John didn't move for a moment before he turned onto his back and sighed, wondering why he'd had to open his big mouth.

Deciding he didn't want to lie in bed with an angry wife, John rose and left the bedroom, hearing no movement or complaint from Mary as he did so.

Walking quietly, John first made his way to his son's bedroom, peeking in to see Dean fast asleep beneath his blankets. Smiling, John turned and moved in the other direction, once again returning to the nursery. He stepped inside and closed the door behind himself, gazing at the carefully preserved crib, rocking chair, change table, toys and other baby accessories.

Stepping up to the crib, John peered inside but he wasn't thinking about his youngest son, he was thinking about another baby to give new life to this room. He imagined another boy- he'd wanted to name a child Henry, after his father- to be a playmate for Dean once he was older, or perhaps a little girl- John knew Mary would love a daughter- his eyes glazing over as he envisioned a squirming pink bundle of joy.

W

It was almost midnight before John returned to the bedroom. He moved silently so as not to wake his wife but when he climbed into bed, Mary was rolling over to face him, placing a warm hand on his bare chest, her mouth searching for his in the darkness.

SPN

Bobby felt his heartbeat increase when he caught sight of the slick, black Chevy Impala behind a defunct car factory.

He noticed Caleb sit up a little straighter in his seat as they approached the car and parked right beside it.

Even though Bobby knew it was wishful thinking, he sagged a bit when he saw that the classic car was empty.

Opening the Firebird's door, Bobby exited his vehicle, not taking his eyes off of the factory, knowing that the Winchesters were inside somewhere in dire need of help.

Moving around to the trunk, Caleb met him as he opened the lid and handed him a steel knife and a portable UV lamp specially made by a friend who had owed him a favour. The Winchesters could be anywhere in the factory and if they were in a room with no windows, sunlight was useless. Luckily, Bobby's friend had made him a few ultraviolet lamps that would work just like sunshine on most monsters who couldn't go out in the daytime. The grizzled hunter was just hoping they worked on Murraue as well. Grabbing his own knife and lamp, Bobby slammed the trunk's lid and took a deep breath.

"We stick together, no matter what," he told Caleb, "No separating."

The younger hunter nodded, grim-faced.

"We get John and his boys out first," Bobby continued, "This ain't about killing monsters, this is about saving hunters."

"But if the Murraue attack," he finished, "Give 'em Hell, Blacker."

Now Caleb smiled and nodded, "Aye aye, Captain."

Bobby rolled his eyes as he slipped through the gate in the fence surrounding the factory before he began to walk towards the building, hoping that they would find the Winchesters alive.

W

"Bobby," Caleb nudged the older hunter's shoulder with his UV lamp, "Look, we can follow their trail."

Bobby glanced down and saw three distinct footprints smudged in the dust of the factory floor. A little tension went out of his shoulders; at least they wouldn't have to search the entire building now.

Tightening his grip on his UV lamp and steel knife, Bobby took the lead as he started off across the factory floor, following the trail left behind by John and his sons.

SPN

Dean reclined in his bed, not ready to sleep though he knew he should have been- especially if he expected to do well on his make-up Physics test tomorrow- but the book he was reading was just too damn good to put down.

As the seventeen-year old's green eyes scanned the pages, focused on the words, he paused, hearing a slight noise coming from the direction of his closet.

Just junk shifting around, he told himself and continued reading.

Shhhh-shhhh

Dean lifted his gaze, lowering his book and stared at his closet, as though daring it to make another sound.

After about a moment or so, with no noise issuing forth from the closet, Dean returned to his book.

Creeeeee-aaak

Frowning, the teen looked up again and, he could swear his closet door was open about an inch or so when he was sure it had been closed all the way just a minute ago.

Maybe I shouldn't be reading this stuff right before bed, he thought with a smirk and laid the book- Stephen King's Bag Of Bones- on his nightstand and made to turn out the lamp.

Creeeeee-aaak

Dean's heart leaped into his throat as the closet door opened another inch as he watched.

"Adam! If that's you I'm gonna give you so many noogies you're hair will fall out!" The seventeen-year old threatened, trying to tell himself it was just his stepbrother playing a prank on him and not a monster. What seventeen-year old believed in monsters anyway? If anyone at school found out Dean were scared of his closet, he'd be a laughingstock!

There was no sound of giggling from the closet. It was as silent as a grave.

"Adam?" Dean asked and stood up, taking a couple of shuffling steps towards the open closet.

"This isn't funny," he hissed, "I'm gonna kick your butt."

There was no answer from the closet. Dean crept closer, his heart hammering in his chest. He reached out with a steady hand and grabbed the edge of the door, flinging it open wide, quickly before he lost his nerve and saw…

Nothing. An empty closet. Well, not exactly empty. His clothes hung on hangers and there was random crap strewn along the floor that Kate would make him clean up if she saw but there was no monster hiding in among his shirts and jeans.

Just to prove to himself that he was being stupid, Dean raised a fist and knocked it against the clothes, making the wire hangers jingle and a slight shhhh-shhhh of fabric brushing against fabric emerge.

Smiling, Dean felt much better, less like a scaredy-cat and closed the closet door tightly.

Turning back to return to his reading, the teen gave a strangled cry at the sight of a figure sitting on his bed.

SPN

"You're five minutes late," John's boss, Terry MacGruber, greeted him the next morning.

The man nodded, "I'll make it up over my lunch break."

His boss nodded, "See that you do, I ain't paying you to lounge around."

Without even responding, John went to the back of the garage to where the employees' lockers were so he could put his uniform on.

Mary never understood why he continued to work for the man even though he treated all of his employees like shit. John had explained to his wife, time and again, that when he'd returned from Vietnam, jobs had been slim to none, especially for ex-Marines whose only talents seemed to be killing men and taking things apart and putting them back together again. John had asked the already elderly MacGruber for a job upon his return to Lawrence and reluctantly the old man agreed, seeing as most of his mechanics were already fighting the Viet Cong and would never return from battle.

In some strange way, John felt obligated to stay with the old man even though he was an asshole and there were certainly other higher paying and plentiful jobs out there.

As John entered the locker room, he spied Tito- a kid, really, barely out of his teens- likewise getting ready for his shift.

"Did MacGruber chew you out?" Tito asked and John shrugged as he turned his combination lock and opened his locker, pulling out his navy blue jump suit designed both as a uniform to advertise MacGruber Auto Repair and to keep civilian clothes at least minimally clean, and began pulling it on over his jeans and long-sleeved shirt.

Tito had been working at the garage for a little under a year and while some of the other mechanics disliked him, John had a certain fondness for the young man. Of Hispanic origin, Tito had moved to Lawrence from New York because he hated the Big Apple and had wanted to go to Kansas ever since he'd been young and had watched The Wizard of Oz.

It was a running joke that Tito had meant to go to Liberal, Kansas instead of Lawrence, but with English as his second language, he'd gotten mixed up and by the time he'd realized his mistake he'd become a permanent resident.

"What do we have today?" John asked Tito, indicating the vehicles they were supposed to work on.

"Mini van with a busted carburetor," the young man answered, "and a VW with brake problems."

John nodded, "I'll take the van."

"Aw, I wanted to see you squeezed into a Beetle," Tito joked and John smiled, shaking his head.

"I'll see you out there," he told the young man and left the locker room, zipping up his jumpsuit as he did so.

Stepping into the garage proper, John saw the Beetle- a compact bright pink monstrosity- already raised up and ready for work. The mini van, a more sedate forest green, sat quietly at the next station, waiting for attention.

John, who had grabbed the car's keys as he passed MacGruber's office on his from the locker room, unlocked the vehicle now and sat in the driver's seat with the door open.

Sliding the key into the ignition, John listened to the rumble of the engine for a moment, thinking.

It could be as simple as cleaning the crap out of the carburetor or as tedious as a wear-and-tear deal which would require the entire carburetor to be ripped out and replaced.

"I like to look at shadows sweating on the wall/ I get excited when I hear footsteps in the hall/ Outside your balcony I have a room with a view-"

John jumped when the mini van's radio suddenly turned on, Queensryche playing loudly. Jabbing the power button with his thumb, the man turned off the stereo and sat back in the seat, slightly shaken.

"-And I'm watching you."

Again the radio turned on and again John turned it off. Frowning, the mechanic peered at the stereo, confused.

"-IT'S AS PLAIN AS BLACK AND WHITE/ I'M GONNA GET CLOSE TO YOU! OH-OH SO CLOSE TO YOU-"

Startled as music blasted from the speakers, John punched the off button, grabbed the keys from the ignition and scrambled out of the van, slamming the door.

Breathing heavily, the mechanic wiped a hand down his face, peering through the car's side windows and into the back.

John's fears ratcheted up another notch when he saw that someone was sitting inside the van.


	8. Chapter Eight

The ghost, if that was what it was- because Dean didn't know what else to call it, even if he didn't believe in ghosts- sat at the edge of his bed, feet planted firmly on the carpeted floor and hands flat on the sheets on either side like two pale, grimy starfish.

Dean stood frozen in place, not because he was scared but because he was sure that if he moved, the spirit would disappear.

The ghost wasn't even looking at him. It was looking straight- at his bedroom door- and didn't appear to have noticed him at all.

The teen let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as he observed the ghost.

It was a boy, not older than fourteen, wearing what appeared to be a dark blue windbreaker jacket, jeans and Adidas shoes that looked a few miles from the garbage heap. He had either black or dark brown hair, stringy and damp with sweat or water, Dean didn't know.

Carefully, the seventeen-year old moved forward, stepping quietly across his carpet in order to get a better look at this uninvited guest.

Suddenly, the boy turned his head to face him and he clenched his eyes shut fearfully, heart jackhammering in his chest.

When Dean looked at his bed again. The ghost boy was gone. Letting out a shaky laugh, the teen ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. He could have sworn the spirit had been trying to say something to him, its mouth had opened but nothing came out except crimson ribbons of blood.

Queasy just thinking about it, Dean left his bedroom and made his way to the bathroom down the hall. Closing the door and turning on the light, he grabbed the plastic cup sitting beside the sink and turned the tap on, icy water spraying into the vessel.

The teen gulped down three cups of water before he felt better. Looking up into the mirror, Dean frowned. He didn't believe in ghosts or anything like that so… what was this?

Most likely he was just overtired and seeing things, he decided. Kate told him once that when she had twelve-hour night shifts at the hospital she sometimes thought she saw movement and shadowy figures out of the corner of her eye. It was nothing more than an exhausted brain's reaction to being kept awake too long. Nothing to worry about.

Flicking off the bathroom light, Dean left the bathroom and returned to his bedroom, smiling when there was no sight of the ghost, his closet door still firmly shut. Climbing into bed, the teen reached out and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness and slid beneath the sheets, asleep within minutes.

SPN

John leaned in close to the glass to get a better look at the boy in the back of the van. He was sitting hunched in one of the vehicle's bucket seats, rocking back and forth, inches away from the window.

John didn't know how he'd gotten into the car, what with the keys locked up, but he didn't look healthy enough to jack a van much less sit up.

The boy's face was the colour of sour milk, slick with sweat and grimy with dirt. His eyes, a dark green, peered out from sunken sockets, surrounded by deep purple bruises.

The child's arms were wrapped around his middle and John thought that maybe he was cold when suddenly the boy moved with lightning speed. He raised himself up and planted his hands firmly against the window, staring straight at the mechanic.

John let out a horrified cry and stumbled back, his own eyes wide with disbelief as the boy's palms left rusty streaks of blood against the glass. The man felt his gorge rise when the child opened his mouth and blood dripped from between cracked lips.

"John! John?"

Hearing Tito calling his name, the older mechanic turned to see his fellow employee making his way towards him from across the garage, a look of concern on his youthful face.

Glancing back to the mini van, John frowned. The boy was gone as was the blood that he had smeared across the window.

"What… what the hell?" John stammerered and, ignoring Tito made his way around the van, trying to see where the boy had gone.

He needs help, John thought; he's hurt, he could be dying.

Tearing his gaze away from the mini van, John began making his way towards the red telephone hanging on the wall of the garage, to be used in case of an emergency. He needed to call the police.

"John, what's wrong? You look like you've seen una fantasma," Tito asked and the older man explained about the boy in the car.

The younger mechanic's warm brown eyes widened and he made the sign of the Cross.

"MacGruber's not going to like this," Tito said as John picked up the phone and began to dial, "He's not going to like this at all."

John couldn't have cared what Terry MacGruber liked at that moment, a child was in trouble and he needed help.

SPN

"Look, they took an elevator," Caleb pointed out to Bobby and the grizzled hunter nodded, "Probably to the basement. The Murraue wouldn't like to be near any potential sources of light."

The two hunters crossed the factory floor quickly, urgency hastening their steps. Reaching the elevator, Bobby pressed his hand down on the button, mildly surprised when it light up with a red glow and he heard the distant grinding-growling sound of rusty cables lifting the elevator car.

The elevator reached their floor and the twin doors opened into a darkened car. Caleb glanced at the interior warily but Bobby stepped right inside without hesitation.

"If the cable snaps and we fall to our deaths, I'm going to kill you," Caleb muttered as the doors shut.

Bobby rolled his eyes as the elevator that had refused to work for the youngest Winchester took the two hunters down to the basement.

The grizzled hunter held onto his steel knife tightly. He didn't know exactly what they would be walking into but he wanted to be prepared for anything.

The elevator halted at the basement floor with a dull thud and its door slid open to reveal utter darkness.

Not wanting to use the UV lamps unless strictly necessary, Bobby fished a small flashlight out of his vest and clicked it on. Its thin beam didn't nearly penetrate far enough into the dark basement but it was better than nothing. Stepping out of elevator, Bobby took a deep breath and steeled himself for whatever he was about to find.

W

With Caleb following close on his heels, Bobby quietly made his way across the basement floor, shining his flashlight along the cement floor.

He felt the younger hunter grip his shoulder tightly when the beam of light illuminated a heavy-duty flashlight often used by law enforcement laying on the floor, its glass lens shattered. Caleb bent down and picked up the flashlight, trying to turn it on but to no avail.

Bobby and Caleb moved forward slowly, not wanting to accidently trip over any unconscious- or dead- Winchesters. The veteran hunter felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine despite how cool it was in the basement.

"Bobby!" Caleb hissed, grabbing his shoulder again in a painful squeeze as the flashlight beam lit up John Winchester's face.

Bobby's heart clenched at the sight of the younger hunter, not sure if he was still alive and he approached the man quickly, knowing time was of the essence. As he moved towards his friend, his flashlight beam picked out Dean lying face-up beside him and a huddled form crammed between both of their bodies.

"Sam," Bobby breathed even as Caleb reached John and shook his shoulder, calling his name.

"John? John Winchester," the younger hunter whispered loudly, "Wake up."

Bobby didn't have to look at his friend to know that John wasn't going to wake up. The man's face was as pale as cheese beneath his black beard, his closed eyes sunken into their sockets and he was certain, his breathing rapid and shallow.

The grizzled hunter's attention focused once more on Sam when he heard the boy give a weak groan, barely audible over Caleb's failing attempts to rouse his father.

Bobby got onto his knees, holding his flashlight in his armpit and reached out to the thirteen-year old.

"Sam? Son, can you hear me? It's Bobby," he said, "We've come to get you out of here."

Another faint groan was the only response he received.

Reaching out, the hunter carefully rolled the boy over onto his back, frowning when he felt clothes stiff and tacky with some unknown substance. Once he had a better view of John's boy, Bobby swore out loud, startling Caleb.

"Is he-" the younger hunter asked anxiously.

Bobby shook his head, "No, but he needs a hospital in a bad way. They all do."

Bobby wasn't sure if doctors could do anything for John and Dean- who lay as cold as motionless as his father- but the veteran hunter sure as hell wasn't going to let Sam die.

"Let's get the little one into the car and then come back for John and Dean," Bobby suggested and reached out to gather the youngest Winchester into his arms when he heard Caleb cry out in pain.

The Murraue were here. He hadn't even heard them approach.

Standing, Bobby scanned the dark basement, fumbling with the switch to turn on his UV lamp, "Caleb! You okay?"

"Yeah," he heard the younger man reply weakly, "Lost the knife though… and the lamp."

That's fine, Bobby thought as he turned on his lamp and bright, white light shot out like a sword slicing through the darkness.

He heard a sizzle and an angry hiss, followed by the smell of something foul- garbage maybe- burning.

Bobby swung the lamp closer to the sound, struggling to catch the Murraue with the light.

Suddenly he felt a strong hand on his back and he was shoved forward, his legs tangling in the prone bodies of the Winchesters and he crashed to the floor, the UV lamp smashing against the cement and going out.

"Bobby!" he heard Caleb cry out but couldn't respond because two strong, icy hands were closed around his throat.

He heard that sibilant hissing again and an eerie green light illuminated the Murraue's face hovering inches above his own.

Bobby tried to cry out in disgust at the sight of the creature but he was silenced. The Murraue's fingers dug into his throat and bright spots flashed in front of his eyes.

Before he could lose consciousness, he brought his right arm up in a swift blow, burying the blade of the steel knife he'd managed to hold onto into the monster's face, right between her eyes.

The Murraue let out a blood-curdling shriek, like a scalded cat, her back arched as she released Bobby's neck and exploded into a cloud of evil-smelling ash.

The veteran hunter crab-walked away from the remains of the monster before standing and rushing towards Caleb.

"Where's the other one?" Bobby asked, whipping his flashlight around wildly.

Caleb was sitting up, a gash across his forehead, and staring at something behind Bobby. The older hunter turned to see the final Murraue not coming after them but standing on all fours over the youngest Winchester, her mouth open wide, her eyes glaring at them, daring them to move.

"NO!" Bobby shouted and made to step forward, not sure if he'd be fast enough to plunge his knife into the bitch but not caring, she was not going to harm that boy.

Something heavy bumped into his leg and without even looking down, Bobby grabbed it. It was Caleb's UV lamp. Pressing down the switch, white light cut through the darkness, slicing a path towards- and through the remaining Murraue. The monster screamed, standing up, twisting as she did so and appeared to turn into a pillar of char before she too, exploded into ashes as her partner had.

For a long moment, neither Caleb nor Bobby moved. Both men remained as they were, breathing heavily, attempting to wrap their minds around what had just happened.

Then suddenly Bobby was moving, hurrying towards the Winchesters, his heart pounding fearfully.

"Sam!" he called out to the youngest member of the family, "Sam! Son, can you hear me!"

Kneeling in front of the boy, Bobby cradled his head and leaned down, searching for a breath.

There, faint and rapid, but the child was breathing.

"We need to get him out, now," Bobby told Caleb, the other hunter illuminating the scene with his small flashlight.

Sliding his hands beneath the boy, Bobby made to lift Sam from the floor when his eyes fluttered without opening and he groaned again, one hand clutching onto Dean's shirt.

"Nuh," he whispered, "Nuh… D'n."

Bobby, knowing there may not be much time, continued to lift the boy. Sam however, seemed to tighten his grip on his sibling's shirt and rolled out of Bobby's grasp hitting the floor with a cry of pain.

"Shit!" Bobby swore and scrabbled to lift the boy again.

Sam, his glazed eyes open now, was using the last of his strength to remain tethered to his brother.

"D'n," he whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes, "D'n."

"Grab Dean," Bobby grunted as he pinned Sam's legs with one arm and his hands with the other, "Hurry!"

Caleb rushed to do as Bobby asked. Dean, heavy deadweight, was impossible to lift completely off the floor so Caleb hooked the younger hunter beneath the arms and lifted his torso.

Bobby walked close to Caleb and Sam still had a death grip on his brother, murmuring Dean's name but quickly weakening.

The thirteen-year old, small for his age, was easy for Bobby to carry and he had no trouble making his way across the factory floor, his movements impeded as Caleb was forced to walk slowly with his larger burden. By the time they reached the elevator, Sam was unconscious again.

"Are they going to be okay?" Caleb asked as they stepped into the elevator.

"I don't know," Bobby murmured. Now able to see better in the lighted elevator car, the grizzled hunter could see that the youngest Winchester was worse off than he'd first thought.

His face was pale and drawn, almost grey and slicked with sweat. His eyes had sunken into their sockets amidst purple-bruised flesh. There was dried blood on the corners of the boy's mouth and on the front of his shirt as well. Heat poured off Sam in waves, making Bobby sweat as he pressed the young teen to his chest protectively.

Dean didn't look much better than his brother. His face was as white as a sheet, his eyes also sunken and his breathing was laboured.

Not too soon the elevator stopped and the door opened onto the main floor of the abandoned automobile factory. Now that they were able to see where they were going, Bobby and Caleb moved as quickly as they dared, not wanting to jar the injured Winchesters any more than necessary as they hurried from the building.

"We'll have to get an ambulance to come here," Bobby told Caleb as the approached the fence that stood between them and the Firebird, "There's no way I can get all three of them in the car if they don't wake up."

The younger hunter nodded, as the two of them carefully moved Sam and then Dean through the gap in the gate, before carrying them to the Firebird. Bobby laid Sam down on the front bench seat while they rested Dean on the back seat.

"You stay here with them," Caleb told Bobby.

"You sure?" the grizzled hunter asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.

The younger hunter nodded, "If they wake up, at least they know you better than they know me. They might appreciate a familiar face."

Bobby pursed his lips and nodded once. He didn't think it likely that either Dean or Sam was going to wake up but he didn't tell Caleb that.

"I'll call for a bus while I'm out here," he told the younger hunter before Caleb turned away and loped back towards the factory.

Fishing his cell phone from his vest pocket, Bobby took a deep, steadying breath before dialing for an ambulance.


	9. Chapter Nine

Bobby's gaze took in the sterile waiting room for the nth time since he'd been shown in and told to take a seat to wait for news on the Winchesters' conditions. He gripped a Styrofoam cup of cold coffee in his hands, trying to keep them from shaking.

Caleb had offered to stay with Bobby until he learned if John and his sons would be all right but the grizzled hunter refused, thanking him for his help in finding the Winchesters but insisted he go in case things didn't turn out well. He promised to call the younger man with news, good or bad.

Sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair, all Bobby could think about was how his own negligence just might cost three hunters- two of them little more than children- their lives.

Bobby had always prided himself on his researching abilities, on being able to find out just the right information that could mean the difference between life and death for dozens of civilians. And he'd let that pride go to his head.

No, he thought savagely, gripping his coffee cup tightly, you couldn't have known that paper was stuck in the book. It could have happened to anyone, like Caleb said.

Standing, Bobby made his way over to the coffee machine, dumped his cold beverage and then poured himself another cup that he wouldn't drink.

W

Puffy-eyed, Bobby looked up sharply as he heard his name called out.

"Here," he muttered and stood, pushing his baseball cap back off his forehead.

Early morning sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining one wall of the waiting room but did nothing to dispel the chill Bobby felt as a doctor approached him.

The doctor was an older gentleman, in his late fifties or early sixties, with slate grey hair, a deeply lined face and light brown eyes that peered out from beneath thick lids.

"I'm Dr. Hollis," he greeted Bobby without a smile, "I'm looking after your brother-in-law and nephews."

Bobby nodded, "Will they be all right?"

Dr. Hollis sighed, "We're not sure."

"Don't sugarcoat things with me, Doc," Bobby said with a growl, "Tell me straight."

The doctor nodded, "Perhaps you should sit down."

Taking hold of Bobby's elbow, Dr. Hollis guided the grizzled hunter back to his seat, taking up a chair next to him. Bobby felt his chest tighten- it was never good when a doctor suggested you sit down for what he had to tell you next.

"Your youngest nephew, Samuel," Dr. Hollis began, "Is in critical condition but I expect him to make a full recovery."

Bobby sighed, relieved.

"We're working on bringing his fever down and getting him nutrients and fluids right now," the doctor continued.

"The wounds on his abdomen were deep and required stitches. He had lost a great deal of blood which we are also replenishing."

"Were there any internal injuries?" Bobby asked.

The doctor shook his head, "The wounds went through muscle and fat but luckily did not damage any of your nephew's internal organs."

"And John? Dean? What about them?" Bobby wanted to know.

Dr. Hollis gave the hunter a baleful look.

"Currently they are both in a coma," he told Bobby, "And we are not sure if or when they will wake up."

Bobby's heart clenched in his chest, "But there is a chance they'll wake up."

"At this point, Mr. Singer," Dr. Hollis said, "I would not count on it."

Bobby sat back, stunned. It looked as though Sam would be all right but his father and brother… from the way the doctor spoke, they were already at death's door.

Clearing his throat and blinking his eyes more than necessary, Bobby spoke again, "Can I see them?"

"Of course," Dr. Hollis said and stood, "Please come with me."

The grizzled hunter followed the doctor down the cold, unfeeling hospital corridors to the floor where the Winchesters were being kept.

John and Dean were in the ICU while Sam was a floor above in the Critical Care Unit.

After asking the doctor if Sam had woken up yet and finding out he hadn't, Bobby decided to visit the two elder Winchesters first.

Dr. Hollis gave him privacy as he sat down on the chair provided for visitors and stared helplessly at John and Dean, machines measuring their blood pressure, brain activity, breathing, and whatever else there was to be measured.

Alone, Bobby felt tears well up in his grey eyes and he did nothing to stop them.

"I'm sorry, John," he whispered, "I'm so damn sorry. I messed up. I messed up real bad."

Both Winchesters, although pale and surrounded by machines, looked as though they were merely sleeping and would wake up at any moment to chew him out for not doing thorough enough research.

Moving to Dean's side, the grizzled hunter reached out and touched the young man's wrist, "I'll look after Sam. Don't you worry about that."

Not being a man of many words and with nothing more to say to the two comatose hunters, Bobby left the ICU to the next floor up to visit Sam.

The thirteen-year old looked so small and vulnerable in the hospital bed, an IV stand with multiple bags equipped with tubes ran to both of his arms. His complexion was still questionable and his hair stuck to his brow with sweat but Bobby had no doubt Dr. Hollis would be able to bring down the boy's fever.

Once again taking up a chair set out for visiting family members, Bobby reached out and took one of the boy's hands in his larger, calloused one and squeezed.

"It'll be all right, Son," he murmured, "You'll see. It'll all turn out somehow."

W

Bobby remained at Sam's bedside the entire day, reluctant to leave. He might not be able to help John or Dean but at least he could be there for the youngest Winchester when he regained consciousness.

Every few hours Dr. Hollis would return to check on the boy and reassure that he would wake up, eventually.

Bobby could only nod and hope that the doctor was right and he wasn't about to lose all three Winchesters.

"C'mon son," he muttered to Sam as the sun began to set, painting the wall across from the boy's window a pumpkin-orange, "You've gotta wake up."

SPN

Dean dug into his breakfast with gusto, completely forgetting about his ghostly visitor of the night before.

"Woah, slow down," Kate chuckled, "What's the rush?"

The seventeen-year old smiled through a mouthful of scrambled eggs and his stepbrother laughed.

"Don't do that, Dean," John scolded absentmindedly from behind his newspaper.

"Sorry, I just gotta get to school and talk to my Physics teacher," he told her and the nurse frowned, not sharing her stepson's good mood.

"Hopefully she'll say yes," Kate told Dean, "It was a really important test and you need to pass the course."

Dean, in true teenager fashion, rolled his yes, "I know."

Finishing his bacon, guzzling down his orange juice and standing, Dean spoke to Kate once more, "I have to go or I'll be late."

"Oh, all right," Kate said, a little surprised to find Dean rushing out, "Have a good day!"

As the teen entered the front hall to slip his shoes on, he paused, glancing at the key rack hanging on the wall by the door and plucked the Impala's keys from the collection.

The classic Chevy was pretty cool and Dean wanted to impress his friends by showing up in the car at school. Besides, it would be a lot faster than walking, Dean's usual mode of transportation to school.

Opening the garage door, Dean saw the slick black car sitting right where he'd left it the day before. He was sure his Dad wouldn't mind if he took it to school; John never drove it anyway.

Climbing into the driver's seat and turning the key in the ignition, the seventeen-year old smiled as Metallica's "Hit the Lights" came blaring through the speakers.

Singing loudly and very out of tune, Dean pulled out of the driveway and began to head towards the school.

He didn't even realize the Impala had a second passenger until he glanced at the rearview mirror and slammed on the brakes, nearly plowing into the car in front of him.

SPN

John sighed heavily as his alarm clock woke him the next morning to rouse him for work.

"Mmmm," Mary murmured beside him in bed, rolling over, "Do you really have to go in today?"

"Yeah," John told her, "Terry wasn't happy about yesterday."

Without opening her eyes, Mary frowned at him.

"Is he ever happy?"

"No," John told her and sat up.

MacGruber had been pissed when an ambulance, a fire truck and a police cruiser had shown up at his garage, the occupants all concerned for the injured boy John had seen.

In the end, the boy was never found and the only result was about four hours of delayed work for the mechanics.

John, although his boss tried to make him feel the fool, believed he had seen the boy and that he hadn't just been hallucinating or whatever. He just hoped that the child, wherever he was, whoever he was, had been able to find help.

Standing, John stretched before grabbing his clothes from the dresser.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he told Mary who smiled and blew him a kiss.

"Do you want breakfast?" she asked.

John shook his head, "I'll grab something on the way to the garage."

Closing the door to the bedroom, the man headed down the hallway to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, John picked a towel and washcloth from the shelf across from the toilet and reached into the shower without moving the curtain aside. With one hand on the knob that controlled the water, John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He wasn't alone. Using his free hand, he yanked back the shower curtain and stumbled back in surprise, hitting the door and struggling not to cry out.

SPN

Dean's head whipped around to stare at the boy sitting in the back seat of the Impala and had an eerie sense of déjà vu settle over him.

The boy had a pale face, hair that stuck to his forehead with sweat and intense green eyes that seemed to be trying to burn holes into the seventeen-year old's soul.

"Dean," the boy said in a raspy voice, like an old man's, "Wake up, Dean. You have to wake up. You have to wake up now."

"What… Who are you? How'd you get in here?" Dean asked, but the boy ignored him.

"Wake up, Dean! Wake up now before it's too late!" the boy leaned forward and all but shouted in the teen's face.

"Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!"

SPN

There was a boy sitting in the bottom of the shower. He face had a greyish tinge, his lips cracked and bleeding but it was his eyes that disturbed John the most, they were a deep, mossy green. Like Mary's eyes, John thought before the boy opened his mouth.

"Wake up Dad! You've got to wake up now!"

John stared, shocked at the wheezy voice issuing from the boy who looked barely out of childhood. He opened his mouth to speak but the boy didn't give him a chance.

"Now! Now! Wake up now! There's not much time! Wake up! WAKE UP!"

SPN

"Wake up, Son," Bobby whispered to Sam, "Please, I can't lose all three of ya."

Suddenly the grizzled hunter heard a familiar name come over the PA System: "Dr. Hollis to the ICU, Dr. Hollis to the ICU please."

Bobby's stomach turned to ice.

Standing up, the hunter rushed from the younger Winchester's room and down the hallway towards the elevators.

Squeezing himself inside the lift between a couple of chatting nurses, Bobby pressed the button for the lower floor and waited with horrible anticipation for the doors to close.

"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered as the doors slowly slid shut and the elevator began its descent.

Bobby's gaze followed the numbers along the top of the elevator, the ping that announced it had arrived at the next floor seemed unnaturally loud in the hunter's ears and suddenly he was pushing his way through others on the elevator in an attempt to exit as quickly as possible.

At a run, Bobby headed towards the ICU, dodging doctors, nurses and patients, praying that he wasn't too late.

The hunter swore out loud as he caught sight of the group of medical professionals crowded around the room where Dean and John were.

Reaching the back of the crowd, Bobby tried to press his way into the room but was held back.

"Let me in! What's happening? Dr. Hollis!" Bobby bellowed, terrified that the two elder Winchesters were dying but unable to move forward.

"Sir, I'm sorry, you have to move back," a nurse with a scar from a harelip told Bobby, one hand gripping his forearm.

"Damn you I'm moving back," the grizzled hunter spat at the nurse, "They're my family!"

The nurse looked conflicted for a moment, as though not sure whether to call security or allow Bobby into the room out of fear for his hostile behaviour when a loud voice bellowed from the interior of the room.

"Let him through!"

Bobby smiled at the sound of Dr. Hollis, unaware that the dopey-looking man had had it in him. Brushing past the nurses at the door, he entered the room.

The doctor was standing in between the beds where John and Dean were reclined, a stethoscope in his ears, and one hand on the eldest Winchester's wrist to check his heart.

"What's wrong? Are they all right?" Bobby asked, his gaze flicking from one Winchester to the other, looking for answers.

"B-Bobby?" a faint voice asked and the grizzled hunter's mouth opened in shock.

"Dean!" Bobby gasped and hurried forward to the young man's side.

Dean's eyes were closed but he smiled when Bobby reached out to touch his arm.

"How're you feeling, son?" the grizzled hunter asked.

"Like I was hit by a semi," the seventeen-year old croaked.

Bobby couldn't help but chuckle. Glancing down at the teen, Bobby saw Dean frown.

"Are… are Dad and Sammy okay?"

"Yer Dad's right here with you," Bobby told him, "An' Sam's in another room but he'll be all right."

Dean sighed.

"All right," Dr. Hollis said, "They both need their rest. You can come back a bit later once they've had some time to sleep."

"Screw sleep," Dean murmured, his eyes opening to hazel slits, "I wanna see Sammy."

Bobby chuckled to himself as he left the room, heading towards the cafeteria to get some coffee and a sandwich, now that it seemed all three Winchesters would make it, he had his appetite back.


	10. Chapter Ten

Bobby watched as Sam picked at his lunch, seeming to have no appetite, even after spending three days without food in the basement of that old factory.

Dean and John on the other hand, had no problem eating and both elder Winchesters gobbled down the bland hospital fare.

"Are you all right, Son?" Bobby asked Sam quietly.

The thirteen-year old shrugged. He had regained consciousness shortly after his father and brother and demanded to see them as soon as he realized they were both awake and recovering from the Murraue attack. Dr. Hollis had at first been reluctant to let the young teen out of bed, especially when he still had a high fever but Bobby promised to take the boy back to his room if he needed to.

That seemed to sway the doctor and within hours the three Winchesters were reunited, Sam running into the room to embrace Dean tightly and then John.

The two older men in the family didn't remember anything about what they had dreamed while under the Murraues' spell, which Bobby thought just as well, seeing as all the sources claimed that the comas were usually plagued by hellish visions meant to terrify victims.

Dean, his cheeks stuffed with food, stopped chewing and looked at his younger brother.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" he asked.

The thirteen-year old, sitting on the end of his brother's bed, set his plastic fork down on his tray, looked at his father, looked to Dean and let out a stifled whimper.

"You almost died," he whispered, "Both of you… And I couldn't do anything about it."

"Sam," John said, his dark eyes pinning his youngest son, "There was nothing you could do."

"I tried! I tried to get us out but… but I wasn't smart enough or s-strong enough… not like you… you would have gotten us o-out."

Bobby looked to John, stricken by the boy's anxiety.

The younger hunter, who may not always win the Father of the Year Award, sighed and pushed his own lunch tray aside.

"Come here, Sam," John encouraged and patted the sheets beside him.

Slowly, the thirteen-year old slid off his brother's bed and crossed the short distance to his father's climbing up onto the hard hospital mattress with some help from Bobby.

Sam seemed a little bit unsure of his father- John usually didn't display affection, especially to his youngest son- and even Bobby was surprised when the man reached out and place an arm around the boy's shoulders, drawing him closer.

"You did the best you could in that situation," John told him, his stern voice soft, "You know I'm not a miracle-worker; even I wouldn't have been able to get us out of that basement."

Sam appeared to think about his father's words for a moment, "Really? Even you?"

John smiled and the gesture dramatically changed his face- Bobby thought he looked years younger- and gave his youngest son a quick squeeze, "Really."

SPN

John reached out and gave Bobby an uncharacteristic hug. The grizzled hunter stared, agape at his younger friend and John chuckled.

"You saved our lives, Bobby," he reminded him, "You and Caleb."

The veteran hunter nodded, "Yeah, after I almost got y'all killed."

John sighed, "Just be glad you had a bad feeling. We both know that sometimes intuition can serve well in this line of work."

Bobby nodded.

"Will you be all right?"

John smiled, "I feel fine."

"And the boys?" Bobby asked. He peered into the Impala's backseat where both Sam and Dean were sitting, the younger brother curled up against his older sibling.

"Sam's injuries still have to heal a bit but he'll be fine in a few days."

Bobby nodded, "Guess you're gonna find another hunt?"

If he knew one thing about John, it was that the man went from case to case faster than a chain-smoker switched cigarettes, that man could never stay idle for long.

"Actually," John said, "I was thinking that a near-death experience deserves a bit of rest."

Bobby raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"You, take a vacation?" he said incredulously.

John nodded, "Not long, just a few days, but it will give all of us time to recharge."

Bobby gave a small smile, "The boy's will like that."

SPN

Dean glanced down to see Sam's eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. Dean smiled, his brother still looked a bit sickly and any chance for rest would do him a world of good.

The seventeen-year old reached out and brushed his sibling's bangs off his forehead, causing Sam to shift position slightly and mutter in his sleep.

"Wake… up…" Sam whimpered, "Wake…up…"

Dean frowned for a moment, considered doing just that and rousing his brother from his slumber, but then Sam quieted down and seemed peaceful once again.

The Impala's door squeaked as John opened it and sat down, "Ready to go?"

"Yes sir," Dean replied.

John turned the key in the ignition and began to pull out of the parking spot, lifting one hand to wave to Bobby as he did so.

"Where are we heading to now?" Dean asked, "Do you have another case in mind?"

From the rearview mirror, the teenager saw his father smile, "Nah, I was thinking we could take a little vacation. What do you say?"

Dean's eyes widened, "No hunting?"

John nodded, "No hunting. Just you, me and Sam."

The seventeen-year old grinned, "Sounds awesome, Dad."

John smiled back at his sons and drove out of the hospital parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this story. Please take a moment to leave a Comment or Kudos.   
> Thank you all for your support.


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